Night settled over the Creeping Shadows country on the wings of the storm and Slim still faced a long, wet ride back to the Box B. It was unfamiliar country, but he knew in a general way the shortest route to the ranch and he struck out cross-country.

The rain fell in torrents, and he kept to the higher ground, working his way slowly out of the foothills. The long-needed rain would be worth thousands to the valley, freshening the grass which had been burned brown by the prolonged drought.

In spite of the long hours on the trail and the hard pace of the last few hours, Lightning made good time, and a little after ten o’clock Slim caught sight of the lights of the ranch. The yellow pin points of light dispelled some of the misery of the night and disappointment of having the trail washed out from under him.

The rain was cold, and in spite of the poncho, rivulets of water ran down his neck and he became thoroughly chilled. They struck one of the ranch trails, and Lightning quickened her pace. She was as anxious as Slim to get protection from the weather.

The ride in from the foothills gave Slim a chance to think over the situation in the valley. There were certainly some unusual elements involved.

First, there had been the shooting on the Sky High trail, in which Chuck had been ambushed and then the attempt to kill the owner of the Box B. It was evident that things were moving rapidly toward a climax.

Slim thought of his brief visit at Dirty Water and checked over one by one the men he had met there. The storekeeper and his clerk could be eliminated from important roles in the rustling gang, but Hal Titzell was a puzzling figure. It was obvious that he had plenty of nerve and at least an explanation for his presence in the valley, but Slim questioned whether he actually had been buying any cattle. That was something he determined to find out.

It simply wasn’t possible for cattle to disappear without some trace, and Slim wondered why the Box B cowboys had been unable to find the rendezvous of the rustlers. Then there must be a shipping point for the stock. The normal place was Mopstick, outside the valley, but there might be another loading yard nearer along the railroad that was being used.

As Slim mulled over the possibilities, he realized that he and Chuck were going to be in for some busy days before the mystery of the rustling on the Box B could be solved.

Slim rode into the valley which sheltered the headquarters of the Box B and Lightning sloshed toward the corral. Chuck, who had been listening for Slim’s approach, came running with a lantern under his slicker. He opened the gate, and horse and rider passed inside the corral. There was a pole lean-to, with a thatched roof, at one side of the corral and the horses were gathered under this protection.

“What luck?” asked Chuck.

“None,” replied Slim. “I was within half an hour of my man when the storm broke. The trail just melted out in front of my eyes and I turned and headed for home.”

“Had anything to eat?”

“Not a thing since yesterday morning.”

“Gosh, you must be starved. Lee Wu’s kept some food hot for you. Better get over to the cookhouse and fill up. I’ll go up to the house and tell Joe Haines and the boss. They’ve been mighty anxious about you.”

“I’ll eat in a little bit,” said Slim, as he pulled his saddle off Lightning. “What do you think of the outfit here?”

“Everything rings true to me, except Doug Huston. He hasn’t made a move out of the way, but I don’t like his eyes.”

“Neither do I. Maybe it’s unfair to Doug, but I’m going to play a hunch and keep a mighty close watch on him. Think the other boys suspect we’re anything but a couple of punchers?”

“No one except Joe Haines, and he knows we’re not out here just for the fun of it.”

“I’m not worried about Joe, but I don’t want the others to get suspicious and I especially want them to keep out of Dirty Water where they might start talking.”

“I guess we’ll be too busy riding range for anyone to get to town for a couple of weeks.”

“This thing will go one way or another by that time. We’ll either have the rustlers behind bars or they’ll have control of the valley. Let’s go.”

They splashed through the mud of the corral and made their way to the cookhouse. Lee Wu, who had been reading, welcomed Slim.

“Supper hot,” he said.

“I’m going up to the house. See you later.” Chuck left the cookhouse and Slim was alone with the Chinese cook.

Lee Wu hurried in with hot food. There was plenty of hash, bread, and coffee and Lee opened a can of sliced peaches.

“I’m just about starved,” grinned Slim, as one mouthful of food followed another. “Haven’t had a thing since yesterday morning.”

“Can fix more hash,” grinned Lee Wu.

“No thanks. This will fill me up. Say, Wu, you’re a real cook. I never tasted better hash.”

“Not bad, not bad,” chuckled Wu. “Like that myself.” He sat down opposite Slim and took a generous helping of his own hash.

“Catch bushwhacker?” he asked.

Slim looked up gloomily. “No, Wu. I was almost up with him when the rain started and the trail was washed out. Better luck the next time.”

“Tough place. Plenty boys come and work here while and then drift on. Afraid of getting bullet in back. No one bother Wu though.”

“Why not?”

The cook disappeared in the kitchen to return with a double barreled sawed-off shotgun.

“Fill ’em up with nails,” he chuckled. “Hit someone and phooey!”

“Phooey, is right,” grinned Slim. “I guess you’re safe enough from the rustlers. Got any idea who’s causing all of the trouble?”

“Plenty ideas, no proof. Bad business to talk with loose tongue.”

“You’re right, Wu. A loose tongue can sure get a fellow into a lot of trouble.”

Chuck stuck his head in the door.

“They want you at the ranch house as soon as you’re through.”

“I’ll be along in a minute.” Slim finished the last of the can of peaches. “Great supper, Wu. Thanks a lot for saving it for me.”

“Okay,” grinned Wu, who had warmed to Slim’s praise of his cooking.

Slim found the owner of the Box B propped up in bed. Joe Haines was in a chair nearby.

“Chuck’s told us about the rain,” said Adam Marks, his keen eyes glinting beneath the bandage which swathed his head. “Anything else happen?”

Slim recounted briefly his hard ride on the trail of the bushwhacker. “The fellow was circling along the foothills and riding pretty hard. He must have had an idea he would be trailed.”

“You’re darned right he did,” put in the range foreman. “We wouldn’t let a shooting like that go without trying to get revenge.”

“Get any clues on the fellow’s identity?” asked Marks.

“I’ll recognize the marks of his horse’s shoes wherever I see them,” replied Slim.

“Good boy. We’ve needed a couple of nervy riders like you and your pardner. It gives me new courage. We’ll whip these rustlers to a standstill.”

“I’d like to know how they ship the stock they rustle,” said Slim.

Joe Haines smiled grimly. “I’d like to know the same thing. I’ve got a hunch, but you can’t prove anything on a hunch.”

“How do the other cattlemen in the valley stand?”

“They’re all suspicious since I started losing cattle. Claim they’re being raided, too, but I doubt that. No one will work together. It’s every man for himself.”

They discussed the situation for a time and then Slim went to the bunkhouse. The other riders were in their bunks, apparently asleep, but Chuck roused up and lifted his bulk on one elbow. He started to speak, but Slim shook his head, undressed, turned out the light, and rolled into the blankets. He was worn out by the hard ride on the trail and he fell into a slumber that was broken only by the strident tones of Lee Wu’s breakfast bell the next morning.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Slim found the bunkhouse deserted, but the sound of running water and other noises informed him that his companions were outside at the pump.

He slipped into his clothes and joined them.

“Chuck tells us the rain played you a dirty trick,” said Walt Kelly, hitching his pants closer about his rotund waist.

“It didn’t help any,” admitted Slim.

“Learn anything that really gives you anything on the rustlers?” asked Doug Huston. Slim looked into the watery eyes and thought he detected a trace of uneasiness.

“Not a thing,” he replied. While the others headed for the cookhouse, Slim hurried down to the corral. He was afraid the rain had washed the dye off Lightning, but to his intense relief he found that the white spots were still effectively covered.

There was little conversation at breakfast as the punchers downed the stacks of cakes and gulped the breakfast food and coffee. When they emerged from the cookhouse, Joe Haines was waiting for them.

“We’ve got two more riders,” he said, “and we’re going to try to cover all of the main herds everyday.” Then he assigned the work and Slim found that he was teamed with Doug Huston while Chuck was paired off with Pat Beals. Joe and Walt would ride together while Lee Wu took his faithful shotgun to the ranch house to stand guard there.

Slim found Doug to be a silent riding partner, but Doug knew the range well and they worked west toward the foothills where he had ridden the day before. The rain had freshened the grass overnight and Slim marveled at the sleek, well fed condition of the Box B cattle. It was little wonder rustlers would take extreme risks to get such stock as grazed on the rolling acres of the Marks’ ranch.

They stopped at noon and ate the lunch Lee Wu had prepared, then started the swing back toward the ranch. There had been no sign of any cattle having been stolen and the herds were grazing calmly in the rich valleys of the foothills.

They were near the north boundary of the ranch when Slim sighted a lone rider and turned to Doug.

“That’s one of the Double O boys. Nels Anderson, their boss, keeps them all riding our range line. Claims he’s lost cattle and doesn’t make any bones about saying that he thinks they’re on our range. Matter of fact, I guess he did find about forty head he’d lost over here.”

“Which doesn’t mean the Box B rustled them.”

“Well you try to tell that square-head that story. We’ve all talked ourselves hoarse.”

The lone horseman waved as the Box B punchers passed a few hundred yards away and they waved in return.

“That’s Al Bass. The Double O riders are all friendly enough, but they have to do what old Nels tells them.”

They reached the ranch shortly before sundown and found the other riders there ahead of them. There had been no sign of the rustlers anywhere on the Box B and Joe Haines led his punchers to supper with a lighter heart.

After supper Slim had a chance to talk with the foreman alone.

“How many head have you lost altogether?” he asked.

“I’d say around 500. That’s a rough guess, but we won’t know for sure until the fall round-up.”

Slim whistled. “That’s a lot of cattle.”

“More than we can stand. Much more of it, and the Box B will be ready for the auction block.”

A rider appeared on the trail from Dirty Water and they watched him approach the ranch.

“I’d just as soon see a snake coming,” grunted the foreman as he recognized the visitor as Hal Titzell, the cattle buyer.

Titzell dismounted easily and faced the foreman.

“Been around the valley a bit today,” he said, “and thought you might have a little choice stuff to sell. I’ve got a special order from a Chicago commission house. Top price for choice beef. What do you say?”

“Sorry Titzell, but you know we don’t do business with you.”

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. I heard your outfit was a little pressed for cash.”

“You heard wrong.”

“Maybe I’d better talk with your boss,” said the cattle buyer, starting toward the ranch house.

“Adam Marks is too sick to see you,” replied Joe, barring the way. “If I were you, I’d start back for Dirty Water.”

“Very well,” replied Titzell, apparently unperturbed by the gruff treatment accorded him, “but think it over. If you change your mind about that choice stuff on your north range, let me know.”

The cattle buyer mounted and rode swiftly down the trail toward Dirty Water.

“I hope his horse stumbles and Titzell breaks his neck,” snorted the range boss.

One remark of the cattle buyer’s lodged in Slim’s memory. He had especially mentioned the choice stock on the north range, which lay next to the boundary of the Double O.

Slim was still feeling the fatigue of his two arduous days on the trail of the bushwhacker and he rolled into his blankets early, followed shortly by the other riders of the Box B.

Doug and Slim rode the same section of the range the next morning and it was well after noon when they reached the boundary of the Double O. On the previous day they had passed a bunch of steers grazing in a coulee a mile below the boundary, but the cattle were nowhere in sight and Slim and Doug spread out to hunt for them.

Slim followed their trail straight across the line into Double O territory and he turned and rode back to join Doug.

“The cattle have gone into Double O range and it looks to me as though they were driven there.”

“Then we’d better get back to the ranch and tell Joe.”

Slim gave Lightning her head and soon outdistanced Doug in the ride back to the ranch. Fortunately Joe Haines had ridden in early and he told the foreman what had happened on the north range.

“We’re going to have a showdown with Nels Anderson,” said Joe grimly. “We’re going to get those cattle back even if we have to do it with gunpowder!”